


The MilkyWay Intergalactic Reconnaissance Association

by LiaLox



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Foul Language, Introducing the crew first before diving into the plot, M/M, Mini crewmate - Freeform, Non-Linear Narrative, Sickfic, impostor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaLox/pseuds/LiaLox
Summary: The MilkyWay Intergalactic Reconnaissance Association, or MIRA for short. This is a story about the association's crew managing the Skeld. Life is a struggle, even in space.-----Latest chapter:As it turns out, no amount of intellect and book smarts can save you from your own personal stupidity. Red's learned from personal experience that humans are, for the most part, complete idiots.
Relationships: Crewmate & Impostor (Among Us), Crewmate/Crewmate (Among Us)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. White

The first thing White does in their new role as the Skeld’s doctor is take a break. The second thing they do is actually do their work.

And they’re competent at it. One of the best in their field, if White was being honest. The funny thing about space travel is, the colonies make a huge uproar about all the prestige surrounding the job titles. About brilliant scientists and engineers turning what was once science-fiction into reality, and about the leaders who spearhead the discovery of the unknown. Because space is vast, and humans are greedy, and if mankind could not survive on their finite resources then they’ve demanded the exploration of the infinite.

There would be money, they said.

The job opportunities are great, they said.

Well, here’s the funny part: they never said anything about how soul sucking, heart wrenching, and—if you were unlucky— _beheading_ the job would be. But maybe getting your upper half chomped on by an alien until your body vaguely resembled that of a chicken thigh would be a blessing compared to doing the sheer amount of workload White has. A mercy kill, if you will. Isn’t that funny?

This isn’t bitching, White thinks. They lean back on the not-so ergonomic office chair in the medbay examining the five out of ten completed reports on the vitals scans that were performed recently. The other five had failed. It’s not because the others have skipped out on it, no, they were all good little ducklings this time around and lined up one by one. The machine itself simply failed to activate for specific individuals. Was it an error in the program? A hardware issue? Did White win the lottery this time and board a ship with _five_ imposters?

White thumbs over the reports labelled ‘unknown’. Red, Yellow, Purple, Green, and Lime.

They shake off the thought. If there really were five imposters, it’s an easy task for them to quietly take care of one crewmate each and control the ship. They’d be dead by now. The most likely possibility was that the Skeld just sucks in general, and that things just naturally had a 50% chance of breaking down.

White is going to have a lot of fun figuring this out. This is fine. Totally fine. This is not bitching at all.

\--

Like a true genius, White found the fastest way to discover what was wrong with their equipment that required the least amount of effort.

They got someone else to check it out.

Black’s been at it for a while now, his own PC flashing an array of numbers and symbols while it’s hooked up to the machine. Carefully, he moves his hand out from behind the monitor, the plastic folds of his suit catching on a few wires and cables as he pulls out.

He sighs.

“I’ve been on missions on the Skeld before and there’s never been any issues with the medbay. No wire tasks, no network issues here… and the scanner itself works when we test it on ourselves,” Black rubs his hands as if there actually was dust in space. “Out of everything in this ship, the medbay is the best kept unit.”

White completed what must have been the 48th spin in their chair and raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you insinuating that I simply cannot operate my own equipment? The complexity of my tasks goes beyond you, I know, but I’m smart enough to tell when my own equipment is at fault.”

“I’m stating facts,” Black deadpans. “Figure this out yourself, if you’re so smart.”

“Sounds like a waste of my valuable time,” White replies. They bite their lip. “Hm. Be a dear and ask both Blue and Red to visit the medbay at once.”

“Why?”

White inwardly groaned. If they had to listen to another one of Black’s Red-is-sus speeches, they’d throw themselves out of the airlock. It’s still week-fucking-one, and the man has no evidence whatsoever other than his ‘hunch’. “Because while you might have more experience than the kid, Blue’s academic career far outweighs yours and I trust him more than anyone else on this ship. And I understand that you’d rather steer clear of Red but—“

“No, I meant why me?” Black interrupts, irritated. “I’m not your errand boy, White. I have tasks to do.”

“ _You_ have tasks?” White asks incredulously. “You wouldn’t have a job if you didn’t have _my_ samples to deliver!”

Black throws his hands at them. "You know what? I don't care anymore."

"Black--"

“Not my medbay!” He shouts, as he turns on his heel and walks off towards the cafeteria. “Not my problem!!”

White could hear him continue to grumble to himself as he moves out of earshot, then all that’s left is silence and a whole lot of tasks not being completed.

They sigh and push themselves off their chair. It only takes a few steps cross the entire length of the medbay, and its pristine white is a stark contrast to the rest of the ship. Rather than the neon green lights emitting from the lasers of his machines, the ship itself is illuminated by the bare minimum amount of LEDs and the occasional pulse of red coming from the cameras. Suffice to say, the Skeld had all the appeal of a dimly lit tuna can.

They go past engines, then through the reactor. The doors to security are slammed shut—if it was possible to get Pink’s attention through the loud music that was no doubt blasting through her headset, they’d be banging on the door demanding for Red’s location through the cams. Instead, they continue on to electrical, where Blue is most likely to be.

Normally, the crew should not know any personal details about each other but Blue was an exception. He’s the youngest on the ship, and anyone who was cultured enough to follow current events would’ve recognized him from his appearance in the papers.

Blue is a prodigy. By the age of fourteen, he’d completed all the electrical and mechanical engineering courses on Mira U. They were online courses of course, pre-recorded lectures and seminars with long quizzes and examinations meant for people who have nothing better to do while they were stuck in space. But because he’s never physically been in class, there were questions on the validity of his credentials, and so he chose to study on Polus to prove them wrong. Within two years he’s earned three Masters and received them all with honors. All at the age of 20.

When White was 20, they couldn’t even operate a frying pan.

Good news is scarce these days and so the local papers were plastered with his name at the time. A local celebrity, if you will, considering his unique childhood. Blue was born on a ship, grew up in a ship, and judging by the amount of electrical tasks he has on a daily basis, he’ll die on a ship too. That’s what you get for having a Masters.

Death.

White can relate. They’re already dead on the inside, their body just hasn’t realized it yet.

The doors to electrical were locked by the time they got there, but before White could even try opening them, they heard Red’s distinctive voice practically growling from storage.

“He’s not your target. He’s _mine_.”

Shit. No wonder electrical is closed.

White isn’t surprised. They’d already guessed there were imposters on the ship. It would be standard for their kind to shut down doors to their advantage. He could always turn back, but they came here to deliver a message after all. They might as well do what they came to do here so they pressed on into storage.

In the middle of knocked-over boxes and fuel cans, there knelt the perpetrator, one leg pinning down Purple’s prone body. As a doctor, the first thing White notices is that one of Purple’s arms isn’t bent the right way. His helmet is tossed aside into the far corner of the room, lying haphazardly alongside a purple glove.

“…And since you seem so goddamn keen on picking on him because he’s easy,” Red snarles. He has Purple’s hair in a painful grip, the shimmer of his gun pressing tightly below Purple’s jaw. “I’ll teach you how much easier it is to—“

Purple’s eyes went wide.

“White!!” Purple screams as soon as he notices White surveying the scene. “Oh thank god, White! Help me! Red is an imposter!”

White looked at the scene with the jaded indifference of a dollar store cashier.

“That’s nice, dear,” White says, blandly. Red’s eyes conveyed absolute bloodlust, but they don’t respond to the provocations of an idiot. What kind of shitty imposter gets caught this early on? If you’re going to kill someone, you might as well do a good job of it. “Red, after you’re done cleaning up here can you open that door and tell Blue that I’ve been having issues with one of my machines?”

“Aren’t…” Purple rasps. He’s breathless. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

White shrugs. “As the doctor on this ship, I’d have less work to do if you just died.”

You could practically hear Purple’s jaw hit the floor.

“And you Red?” White pipes up. “I take it that you understood my instructions?”

No response.

Little shit. They’re giving him a free pass here, in exchange for not having to exhaust the energy from getting involved with a crime.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” White turns to leave. “I don’t want to be a part of this.”

\--

White, as it turned out, became a part of this anyway.

Pink reported Purple’s body. It was found with bullet through his head and his body had taken a beating. He’d clearly put up a fight before Red got the best of him. But like Yellow, Green, and Brown, White kept his lips sealed and silently wished they’d invested in noise-cancelling earphones to block the sound of the rest of the crew’s yelling.

They sat in the cafeteria table, arms folded and helmet off, while the rest of the crew threw accusations at each other. There’s only nine of the crew left, and the fact that more haven’t died comes as a pleasant surprise. Of course Black starts it out by calling Red sus.

“It’s not Red! I was on cams the whole time!” Pink insists. “Red never left the reactor until he knocked on my door. We were going to get snacks together but before we got there, we saw Purple’s body by the fuel.”

Red nods. “We took the long way around because I had to talk to Blue.”

The bastard’s not even trying to hide it. There’s blood splattered all over his suit. The only saving grace is that it happens to be exact same shade as his suit, and the rest of the crew is too busy freaking out at each other to notice.

“I never left electrical,” Blue offers his own alibi. “And I was too busy doing tasks to notice anything. You can go inside and review my work.”

“It’s Pink,” Lime says, with confidence. “She’s the only one who could’ve gotten there unnoticed while we all did tasks.”

“Or it’s _Lime_ ,” Pink retorts. “Because they’ve been accusing me of being an imposter since day one and for no good reason!”

“I have a good reason! And the reason is you’re an imposter!”

Black slams his hands down on the table. “Enough! You know who I actually remember heading that direction? _White_. They wanted to talk to Blue and Red.”

You’re got to be kidding.

Everyone immediately set their sights on them like a fresh pack of gum in the middle of a boring class.

Pink tucks back a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. “Mhm. I can confirm that. White went down that direction shortly after Black visited the medbay.”

“I saw them go that direction from the reactor too.”

Blue shakes his head. “I never talked to White.”

“So what were you doing?” Black leaned from across the table and paused for dramatic effect. “Are you… _the imposter_?”

White thought they had already given all the fucks they could possibly give, but the way Black wiggled his eyebrows got rid of the last little fuck they didn’t even know they had.

“Okay,” White says, exasperated. “Vote me. Let’s see how long you all last without a doctor. I dare you. Vote me. See if I give a shit. My last words are going to be _you fool, I was not the imposter_.”

It clearly wasn’t the answer anyone was expecting, because they all exchanged glances at each other and hovered over their tablets to vote.

Yellow finally speaks: “I don’t think this is White’s style… don’t you think if they killed someone, they’d do it with—I don’t know, more finesse?”

“Yeah, White would probably poison us or something,” Lime agrees. “Like a low-effort death, you know?”

“They’re so scrawny,” Green adds. She taps on the table. “I doubt they could beat up Purple.”

“Let’s just skip,” Blue suggests. “I don’t want to see any more of us die.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

White decides not to thank them. Instead, they proceed to tap at their tablet until the voting results appear. Everyone skipped with the exception of one.

Black blinks at White. “You voted for yourself?”

White sighs, and picks up their helmet and prepared to place it back on their head. They're so tired.

“I’d rather be dead in space," White glared at them all. "Than alive with you idiots on this ship.”


	2. Red - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I am using a non-linear narrative to tell this story. It's basically going to be a series of one shots from the crew's perspective and it's a prequel to another fic I had in mind. 
> 
> Red and Blue is inspired by @velinxi 's Red and Blue from IG.

_\-- Shields --_

Humans have this impression that shapeshifting is like magic. Instantaneous and effortless. Red has seen their imaginations of it once, in Pink’s console, when she showed him her favourite digital creature in something she referred to as “Pokémon”. No doubt it was a favourite because the creature’s colour matched her suit, but the rest of the cultural reference was lost to him.

Unlike the game, it takes _hours_ for a skilled imposter to mimic any organism with complete accuracy. Like all chemical reactions and organic changes, they take time and the change is rarely pleasant.

Red traces his arm and gently scratches circles to his palm, examining the minute details of this form. It tingles. Is it supposed to feel like this? He can’t help but feel sorry for these humans who have to live like this--in a body that’s too damn sensitive. His limbs that once had the freedom of every axis of motion have now hardened to a rigid interior covered in a plush epidermis with little hairs that seemed to serve no purpose at all. Their skin can’t withstand small variations in temperature, and make up for it with foreign material as a means of protection.

With such naturally fragile forms, its no wonder they had to rely on their intellect to survive. Their logical processing capabilities far exceed any known species, and even have the capacity to create machines that could travel through space. In terms of sheer intelligence, Red’s species lagged behind miserably. Forget trying to actually learn how to do tasks—the concepts of engineering in itself is impossible for them to comprehend. Instead, they relied on adaptability (as shapeshifters should) and their natural ability to understand social climates and body language. A gift of evolution, Red thinks, and he’s not wrong.

And so, they can blend in with humans without a problem, but fixing this goddamn ship was different story.

Surprisingly, despite their lower base IQ, the "imposter" species still stands on equal ground with humans as cognitive beings.

As it turns out, no amount of intellect and book smarts can save you from your own personal stupidity. Red's learned from personal experience that humans are, for the most part, complete idiots.

For a crew of scientists, doctors, engineers, and other words they would lump in with “humanity’s finest”, they’ve been notoriously ignorant and range from blissfully naïve to paranoid to a fault. The first few missions, Red spent weeks before his first kill, running every possible scenario in his head and only having his meals when he was absolutely certain the kill would be clean.

He thought it was so obvious. He’d always been able to identify other imposters at a glance, and he’d thought the most intelligent species in the galaxy could too. That they could see that the bodies of an imposter aren’t _quite_ right, that the folds on their skin would be a little displaced, that their irises shone with a hint of crimson.

But Red was wrong. Horribly wrong.

Humans are dumb. And fragile and sensitive and sometimes delicious when their muscles aren’t too lean and--

“Hi Red!” A cheerful voice greets him out of nowhere, and he all but flings his hand away from playing with his skin and quickly slips the glove back on. “What’re you up to all by yourself?”

Red whips his head around, scans past the rows of glowing columns that line the walls of Shields until his eyes land on a familiar crewmate. Familiar, because this one was presented to him as his assigned target in the debrief. Blue’s helmet is off, and his eyes are shining with carefree abandon as he waves his way over.

“Blue,” Red exhales his name. There’s drumming in his chest. Stupid, easily triggered, fast beating human heart. “…Hello.”

Blue smiles. He does it in a way Red could never replicate even when he practices in front of a mirror, all sunshine and energy, like his whole body smiles with him. As if the room wasn’t already bright enough, Blue’s presence finds a way to make it brighter. He should’ve been a yellow. The colour suits him better.

A beat.

Blue leans forward expectantly and Red blinks.

“Oh. …Nothing,” Red finally replies, when he remembers Blue had asked him a question. “There was dirt on my hands.”

“Really?” Blue tilts his head. “It kind of looked like you were tracing something on your hand, tohugh. You seemed super focused. Is it a massage?”

A _what_?

“I’ve never seen anyone do it like that before!” Blue exclaims. He takes a step forward and Red has to fight the instinct to flinch back. “Where did you learn it from?”

“…it’s from a different culture,” Red replies hesitantly.

Blue tilts his head the other way. “Your own culture?”

Red calculates his responses. If he says yes, he’ll be pressed to give more details of a culture that is surely alien to him. If he says no, then he’ll be suspected of mimicking habits that are not his own. No matter how he responds to Blue’s inquiry, the result is suspicion. So there leaves only the third option: Blue must die.

 _Now_.

It’s sooner than what was planned, but he can’t be faulted for efficiency. He takes a knife out from behind him and feels its firmness. It should be a quiet kill. One that would take the greatest amount of time for others to discover. Should he toss him in over the railing? Stuff his body in the vents?

Blue suddenly laughs, and the bright sound of it is such a stark contrast to his thoughts that it makes Red flinch. “Aha! I get it, I’m the exact same way. You’ve probably guessed that I have Italian blood in me from seeing my face.”

What… what does this have to do with the conversation?

Red makes a mental note to classify dark curly hair and light skin as _Italian_ , and opens his mouth to ask _what the fuck_ when Blue continues:

“And sometimes I think about getting in touch with my culture,” Blue says, as he folds his arms. “But it’s a little weird when you start doing stuff you don’t see other people doing, so I test stuff out when I’m alone too.” His eyes widen. “Ah, but I’m trying to get better at it!! I think you shouldn’t have to be ashamed of your origins but I feel kind of silly with some gestures, you know?”

Red nods. He doesn’t know, but he nods anyways.

“My mom says I might be part Japanese too,” Blue continues. “But I doubt it since Japanese people went extinct a long time ago. Besides, I think I’d rather have Italian roots anyway since their food is so good! The most iconic one is spaghetti pasta, especially the tomato sauce kind with the meatballs. I always make a mess while ea…“

Red tunes out the rambling. He doesn’t suspect a thing. Regardless, hardly anyone comes by this area and there’s a vent right by his feet. It’s an ideal time for kill, Red decides, and all that’s left is _how_.

With the number of imposters on board, it would be more beneficial to mince him and divide the meat. The journey back is a long one. Should he dismember him now or later? It was easier to transport a whole body as opposed to pieces, but then there’s the possibility of making a mess twice. Solution: No puncture sounds. Use of unarmed--.

“—ed? Hey, earth to Red?”

Red blinks free from his thoughts. “Yes?”

“Can I show you what Italians do to greet our friends?” Blue asks, rocking on his heel. “It’s a little more intimate, so I have to ask.”

He doesn’t recall being friends with Blue, but if humoring him will establish trust while he makes sure no one else is around… then so be it.

“Yes.”

In one swift movement, Blue leans close—closer than Red’s ever allowed anyone in his life, and turns his head ever so slightly so that his lips plant firmly on his cheek. Red hears a distant clatter in the background, but it doesn’t seem important. What’s important is that he could still feel a trace of Blue’s breath on his neck, his _vulnerable_ neck, and instead of getting mauled at his weak spot he received what could only be described as a kiss.

He lifts a hand to it as if he could capture the warmth left on his skin.

“Ahaha, sorry about that! Looks like I still managed to surprise you,” Blue laughed. He put his hands on his hips. “That’s why I asked first! Consent is important! And—ah, you dropped your knife.”

Red completely forgot about it in his shock. Before he could orient himself, Blue’s already picked it up from the ground, grabbed his free hand, and carefully placed the knife back to his palm.

His features must’ve contorted into—into _something_ , because Blue’s cheerful demeanor extinguishes at the sight of his face.

Blue’s lips press into a thin line. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been clearer about what I was going to do. Does it… did it feel bad to you?”

Red still has one hand on his own cheek, and the other locked with Blue’s. Somehow a knife is a part of this scene. Feel. How does all this feel?

Did it feel? Bad?

…What?

“Uh,” Red replies intelligently.

“It’s okay! Italian greetings aren’t for everyone.” Blue exclaims. He shakes his hand vigorously—the one with a knife, and Red absently thinks that Blue could hurt himself. …No. No—Blue _is_ supposed to be hurt. He’s supposed to be dead and bleeding on the floor, and Blue is too busy being the dumbest individual of the smartest species to realize that this is an attempted murder and not a friendship session.

Blue seems to sense his confusion because he takes a step back.

“Sorry, I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Blue says gently. “I noticed that you’ve always kept to yourself, and you got me curious.” He jumps. “Oh! Oh no, not in a _you-are-sus_ way, I was genuinely curious. I guess I got a little excited. The massage thing is the first thing I’ve learned about you, and I’m happy you felt comfortable enough with me to share.”

Red feels his face heat up. “It’s… it’s not that—“

He stops himself. If it’s not that, then what? What was he trying to say?

“Thanks Red,” Blue manages a grin. “Let’s do tasks together next time! It’ll be fun!”

-

It wasn't fun.

Processing. Yes, let’s call it that.

Red is processing this, processing _Blue_ , and that happened to involve hiding in a vent for some much needed alone time.

Ever since Blue found him acclimating to this body, he’s been chasing him around the ship. While he made for an excellent alibi, and it’s a miracle this much trust was gained instantly—Blue is _stressful_. Stressful as hell.

The first task Blue insisted on doing together was scan, and those machines could easily reveal his alien biology. He’d stepped on the same machine at the same time as Blue and tried his best to remain expressionless as he uselessly waved his arms as the green light went through. Luckily, the machine picked up Blue instead, and the machine gave the satisfying beep of a scan well done.

Red was lucky White was away from the medbay or he would’ve been exposed.

Then it was his turn to choose a task, and he’d blurted out wires but he obviously couldn’t connect wires even if his life depended on it. Which it did. But he still couldn’t do it. 

Blue had to teach him how to do it, but none of his lessons stuck.

Every instance with Blue so far involved narrowly avoiding being sentenced to death and Red can’t take it anymore. At this point, the whole ship knows they’re doing tasks together so he can’t even kill him. It’s nerve-wracking. Although Blue does all the talking and all the tasking, Red knows it’s only a matter of time before his luck runs out and his secret is uncovered.

And so he’s hiding in the vents so he can think.

He’s not giving in to some shameful instinct to crawl under a rock, much like how humans cower under blankets in the dark or curl into fetal positions in fright. No, this is a strategic retreat. A revaluation of the challenge at hand.

Red’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear the clatter coming from deeper into the shaft.

“Good lord Red,” a voice calls to him from behind. He presses closer to the wall to see a flash of purple reflected on the steel of the vent. “Can your thicc ass get any bigger? You’re not the only one using the vents.”

Red chooses not to react to that. “…Apologies.”

“Don’t apologize,” Purple groans. “You’re the one who willingly made your ass this big, you sick shapeshifting fuck.”

“Purple,” Red practically spits out the name. If there was enough room in the vent to turn, he’d glare at what was undoubtedly a purple blob right behind him. “Why the hell are you here? You’re stationed at storage.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Purple replies. “I’m here to take a bite of your juicy ass.”

Red wills his body to shoot a knife at Purple, but their reaction is instantaneous: the gelatinous body splashes upwards, narrowly dodging around the projectile until it lodged itself onto the far end of the vent with a clang. He could hear the steel creak in protest as steam hissed through.

“Whoa! Someone’s a pissy bitch,” Purple laughs, voice garbled. Their throat is no doubt compressed to make the difference. “Learn to take a joke, Red. Relax for once. I was just kidding.”

That’s when Red decides he’s had enough being in this space with them and pushes the grate open, yanking himself out and letting his body stretch and fill to the shape of a human. The vent clatters behind him after a minute, and Purple is left standing on top of it with his knife twirling around in their fingers.

“Well. I’m here because my target’s too damn hard to kill,” Purple says, showing off their dexterity. “And before you get all pissy again, it’s like this whole ship is against me. Boxes falling at the worst times, alarms randomly blaring just as I’m about to sneak up on the guy… you name it. To top it all off my sabotage controls don’t work properly with its old system. This is literally the shittiest ship I’ve ever been on in my life.”

Purple takes a step forward. “And when Blue passed by the other day, I thought my bad luck streak was done. But you were there, and they’re _your_ assignment, so I figured I’d stick around for the show. But what the hell did I just witness?”

“That would’ve been an easy kill,” Purple growls. They press the tip of the knife to the red suit. “And we all could’ve had some fresh meat for once, but you just love wasting our time, don’t you? All we need is one—just ONE kill, then we can take over the ship." He lets out a long sigh. "We need to be back home in a couple of weeks so why are you fucking around like this? Why make this any longer than it has to be?”

Red swats the blade away. “The only one that needs to relax is you. Worry about your own assignment.”

He’s about to walk away when Purple steps back into his path.

“I’ll trade you Black for Blue,” Purple offers. “Come on, I know they’re harder for you to kill now that the kid’s broadcasted that you guys are buddies. Establish a rock solid alibi.” They wave their hands around as if it would convey the word _easy_. “And he’ll be dead before you know it.”

If Purple wasn't so goddamn annoying, he'd consider it.

“Worry about your own assignment,” Red repeats, irritated. He’s aware that they’re loud, and every second this conversation lasts is a second closer to their deaths. He decides to end it. He grabs his knife back from the imposter as he pushes past him before Purple could begin to protest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine imposters to be like, a combination of a Ditto and a venus fly trap.


End file.
